


Burning Flames

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about Sam was too good to be true. (pre-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the song drabble meme on LJ.
> 
> Prompt: Gabriel and Dresden featuring Molly - "Tracking Treasure Down" (6:40)

Jess was an artist. She had an interest in painting and sculpture and history of different artistic movements, looking for the next thing to inspire her. She just seemed to find all of it boring somehow, as if she couldn't quite get a read on what would drive her to develop a style of her own.

And then she met Sam. Everything about him seemed too good to be true. He was perfect, and she had to wonder if there was something else there that she just didn't know about him. He said all the right things, kissed like a dream and made her weak in the knees just by touching her. She noticed a more sensual list to her artwork, not that she could put her finger on exactly what was different. It was as if she was seeing herself for the first time, open to the world at large now. It was as if she was finally understanding who she was and what her place in the world was. Maybe she was looking for shadows where they didn't exist, looking for things to disappear just when things were going well because her father had left her mother out of nowhere.

But Sam was not her father, and Sam would never leave her. He was this jewel of a man, that rarity she had never thought existed. He made her feel special, as if he had given up an entire world just to be with her, even when he hadn't.

He sometimes told her impossible stories about ghosts and ghouls, even when it wasn't near Halloween. He liked to tell stories, and she joked that he should be a writer. He should keep track of those stories he told, write them all down in a book and ship it off to a publisher. They were too good, with a feeling as though it was real somehow, even when it wasn't entirely possible. But he always laughed it off, saying that he wasn't a very good writer. He could talk, he could make up stories, but he couldn't seem to translate the ideas to paper the way Jess could bring her artistic ideas to paper or clay.

Jess took it as modesty, and didn't understand why he couldn't see how special he was. There was something about him, something that she couldn't quite pin down, but definitely existed. He was special, and she was sure that the whole world would see it someday.

She still believed it even when pinned to the ceiling and bleeding on him. Sam was special, and Sam was wonderful. She was just sorry she would never live to see it for herself.

_Don't be sad,_ she wanted to tell him as he was screaming. _I'm glad I got to see even a fraction of it for myself. I'm glad I had these years with you._

And then the world ended in flames.


End file.
